


Riptide

by suzii



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Partners to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27905167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzii/pseuds/suzii
Summary: As the world around them falls to pieces, who says new life can’t bloom through the cracks?Resident Evil 2 AU where Leon arrives at the RPD a few months before the outbreak (and also Krauser’s there!).
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Jack Krauser
Comments: 13
Kudos: 32





	Riptide

Late on the first day. This is undoubtedly a new low, even for Leon. 

The glare from the mid-afternoon sun, still high in the sky, is relentless even through the car’s flimsy sun visor. Leon’s dark aviators do little to shield his vision, only worsening the thrumming headache pulsing behind his eyes. He feels like shit, and undoubtedly looks like it too. So much for making a good first impression. 

Hitting what seems like the third red light in a row, Leon lets out a groan of frustration, partly at the stuttering ebb and flow of city traffic, but mostly at himself. He presses the tips of his fingers gingerly to his temple and winces. It really wasn’t supposed to happen like this. 

Just yesterday he had been so excited, so ready to start this new chapter in his life and begin his budding career at the Racoon City Police Department. In an out of character move, fueled by nervous, restless energy, he had even laid his clothes out for the next day in advance, forgoing his usual last minute scramble through messy drawers and unfolded hampers. Though his time at the academy certainly instilled discipline into his schedule in many ways, he was, after all, still a 21 year old boy. 

That early high came to an abrupt, plummeting halt, however, with a late night call from his girlfriend, now ex-girlfriend, claiming that Leon just wasn’t what she was looking for in a relationship after all — too stubborn, too oblivious, too much of a workaholic. She hung up before he could get a word in edgewise save for a few clumsily sputtered “Um”s or “Wait”s, the line going dead with a damning, heart-rending click. He’d tried calling back, once, twice, was it three times?—he couldn’t remember—but in the end she never picked up. 

A pint of rocky road and a handful of regrettable voicemails later, Leon found himself sprawled on the floor of his small studio apartment, having made a significant dent in a handle of cheap whiskey and nursing a can of flat, tepid beer on the side. The rest is, well, history.

At least he had what he was wearing all sorted out.

Leon curses at the memory as he lets his eyes flutter shut, chancing a momentary reprieve from the sun’s onslaught. God, he can’t believe he fucked this up so royally. Maybe Elza was right in leaving him. He laughs bitterly to himself. A workaholic who can’t even show up on time to his first day. What a joke.

A honk from behind startles him back to reality and Leon instinctually hits the gas, careful to avoid tailing the truck ahead too closely. Getting into a fender bender is the last thing he needs at this point. 

Within the next ten agonizing minutes Leon pulls into the station’s underground lot, lucky enough to snag a spot fairly close to the entrance. At least something seemed to be going right.

Slinging an old backpack over his shoulder, he jogs to the precinct’s main entrance, wincing slightly at the persistent way his muscles ache and the rolling furl of nausea churning in his gut. 

The receptionist at the front desk seems nice enough, but looks a little too close to his ex for comfort. After a flustered introduction on his part, recognition blooms on her face as she types something into her keyboard, long acrylic nails clicking rhythmically against hard plastic. 

“Oh, you must be that Leon! Marvin should be waiting for you in the West Office.” She turns and points over her shoulder. “See that door with the blue spade on it? Right through there.”

“Interesting... design choices...” Leon mutters, only to inwardly chastise himself for the slip. Way to sound like an asshole right off the bat. 

She smiles at that in amusement, “Oh you haven’t even seen the half of it.”

_____

  
After catching an eyeful of the celebratory ‘Welcome Leon’ banner hanging from the ceiling Leon doesn’t know if he'd rather run out the door right then and there or simply crawl underneath a desk, never to emerge again. Maybe if he wills himself hard enough he can just sink down through the floor and save himself the choice.

It’s only his utter mortification at the situation that keeps his feet firmly cemented in place, his back ramrod straight as he stammers out one clumsy apology after another. 

“Kennedy, really it’s okay.” Marvin Branagh, Leon’s direct superior, was thankfully a pretty understanding guy. He stands casually with a hand on his hip and an air of easy confidence that alludes to his years of experience on the force. 

“I’m so sorry, sir. I can’t believe I overslept. Really, I am so, so sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it Kennedy. It’s your first day,” Marvin reaches out to clasp Leon reassuringly on the shoulder. “But try not to let it happen again though, ok?” 

A fair and well deserved warning, but it still prompts a fresh wave of shame to flush throughout Leon’s system.

“Of course sir. I won’t sir.”

A uniformed woman with a short blonde bob and large owlish eyes peeks out from behind a stack of paperwork. “Yeah you should have seen Elliot on his first day. He almost ran head first into Chief Irons himself!”

“Rita! Come on, that was like two years ago!” A shorter man with sandy hair calls out from across the room as he fiddles with the water cooler.

“I remember that. Irons looked like he wanted your head,” Marvin adds in, grinning.

“God, not you too Lieutenant!”

Rita chuckled at that, turning once again to Leon. “I’m Rita Phillips by the way.”

“I’m Leon Kennedy, er, but you already knew that, huh.” 

It takes all he has not to physically cringe, feeling far too green in more ways than one. Rita, mercifully, doesn’t miss a beat.

“Well Officer Kennedy, here’s to a long and fruitful career for you here at the RPD,” she raises a slice of half-eaten pizza in a mock imitation of a toast. 

“Cheers.” Elliot joins in, lifting his own paper cup from where he stands leaning against the wall.

Midway through a bite she speaks up again, “You wan’ som’?” she gestures to a pile of abandoned boxes stacked on a table near the wall and swallows. “We got 'em just for you, ya know, to celebrate you joining the team.

Leon’s stomach turns at the thought. 

“Thanks, really, but I think I’m good for now. I, uh, ate before I left home.”

“Suit yourself,” She smiles knowingly, an amused glint in her eye, before turning back to her work.

Things calm down a bit as the introductions proceed. The warm welcome from his peers allows Leon’s nerves to settle and help him feel more grounded, a little more like himself. He learns that two other officers, David and George, are out on patrol for the afternoon, with the remaining empty desk belonging to some guy named Jack, who, while somewhere in the RPD, is currently MIA.

“Classic Jackie,” Rita says, leaning back in her seat. “He’s always off on his own, doing whatever it is guys like that get up to. I bet he’s making out with his guns.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that.” Elliot smirks.

“Aw, he wouldn’t hold it against me,” she crosses her fingers in front of her face and barks out a laugh, “We’re like this.”

“Either way he better get here soon,” Ellitot mutters, glancing down at his watch. “He owes me like five bucks for the pizzas.” 

“Speaking of Jack,” Marvin turns to Leon, folding his arms across his chest. “He’s going to be your field training officer for your first couple of months here. You’ll be shadowing him out on patrols and in turn he’ll be in charge of evaluating your performance on a weekly basis. Think of it as a kind of mentorship opportunity. That sound good to you?”

“Yes sir! Of course.” Leon nods a tad too vigorously.

“Good. You can learn a lot from him if you pay attention. The guy knows his stuff. Ex-military.” Marvin smiles easily, the open expression fitting well on his face. “Now let’s get you out of those plainclothes, hm.” 

Minutes later Leon finds himself sent away, a hastily drawn map scribbled on the back of a napkin in hand, and tasked with navigating the labyrinthine halls of the RPD in search of the elusive second floor locker room. “Think of it as your first assignment,” Marvin had said with a grin. 

Luckily it’s not too complicated of a trek from the West Office, but that doesn’t stop Leon from making at least one wrong turn after climbing that first set of stairs. 

The room, once Leon finally arrives, is pretty similar to the locker room he used back in highschool for track practice— a few benches, a couple rows of lockers lining the walls, and some showers partitioned off with flimsy vinyl curtains. It’s completely empty, save for Leon. He figures most of the other officers are out and about, having already started their days the way regular, functioning adults tend to do.

His officer uniform is located just where Marvin had said it would be, Locker 206, and Leon can’t help but be a little star struck as he holds the set in his hands for the first time. He’s waited so long for this opportunity, worked so hard, and now it’s finally become a reality, shitty breakup be damned. He traces his fingers over the raised ridges and divots of the badge, feeling the cool metal against his skin. The mindless action allows his thoughts to wander, letting him slide easily into one of the many frequent daydreams he’s been having as of late. Dreams about his potential. Dreams about his future. Dreams about the people he’ll be able to help.

Snapping back to the present, Leon places down the badge with a fond sigh. There'll be plenty of time to think about that kind of stuff later. 

He quickly yanks off his shirt, wanting to hurry back to everyone as soon as possible, but is instead jolted by a new clutching wave of nausea, much, much stronger than before. It hits with such a sudden and lurching intensity that it feels like a punch to the gut, taking his breath away with one shuddering inhale. 

Oh fuck. Oh shit. Fuck.

Drawn into a near frenzy at the fear of hurling all over the floor, Leon flings his forgotten shirt onto a bench and scrambles wildly about the room until he finds what he's looking for: a pair of modest stalls tucked into a corner near the showers. Throwing himself inside the left-most one, Leon yanks up the toilet’s lid and empties the contents of his stomach in one go with a wet choking retch. Bile stings at the back of his throat with a familiar burn that makes his eyes water. 

After everything finally settles, the rolling sickness in his gut for the most part subsided, Leon wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and pushes himself up off the cold floor, his knees holding onto a lingering soreness from the hard tile. Grimacing at the acrid taste coating his mouth, a stubborn reminder of all the bad decisions he’s made in the past 24 hours, Leon can’t help but think there’s some higher power out there who’s really got it out for him. Maybe karmas finally caught up to him for shoplifting that candy bar from his local corner-store back in 3rd grade. Clearly the guardian deity of the RPD doesn’t want a Snickers thief loose on the premises.

To be fair, at least all of this happened far away from the eyes of his coworkers. Rita in particular would absolutely never let him live it down. And god, if Marvin saw... Leon doesn’t think he’d be able to even look him in the eyes.

Pushing the creaking stall door open, he takes a few uneasy steps forward to the line of sinks on the opposite wall and washes his hands, scrubbing at them with more force than was probably necessary. Glancing down at the countertop Leon spots a few cups holding toothbrushes—god what he would do for one of those right now—but settles for rinsing his mouth out with water. After gargling a mouthful from the tap he spits out the sour taste and watches it wash slowly down the drain. Just for good measure he splashes some cold water on his face too, hoping it will do something to help that half-dead look he’s undoubtedly got going on. 

Leaning over the counter, face still dripping, he finally dares to glance up to the mirror and get a good look at his reflection, fully taking in the tired expression in front of him. It’s better than what he was expecting admittedly, but not by much. His eyes are puffy and a wicked bloodshot red— definitely a byproduct of the booze and not the heartbroken tears that may or may not have been shed during last night’s regrettable bender. His skin, similarly, looks rough. Leon’s always been on the paler side, but his complexion looks downright pallid, save for an angry flush of red dusted across his cheeks. 

He looks absolutely crazy. Honestly he was better off not knowing.

Dragging a hand roughly down his face, Leon feels himself dreading facing everyone again. He hesitates a moment in front of the sink, wanting to hide out in the locker room just a little longer, give the redness in his face some time to fade, maybe try and fix his hair a bit, when all of a sudden-

Movement in the reflection behind him catches his attention and Leon realizes with a startling, heart dropping jolt that he’s no longer alone.

An unfamiliar man stands near the lockers, watching over Leon with an intense and unwavering look. Leon turns and stares back dumbstruck for a moment, wholly caught off guard by the new presence, before finally composing himself enough to choke out an awkward, stilted greeting. 

“Oh, hey didn't see you there.”

He hopes his smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels.

The following silence drags on tad too long, hanging heavily and suffocatingly thick in the air. Leon, already feeling off kilter from the tense atmosphere, is almost tempted to break it himself by saying something, anything at all, just to fill the void. He’s always had a mouth on him, or so he’s been told. At least he does when he’s not absolutely hungover. 

“Who are you?” the man finally asks, his voice lower than Leon expected, a textured rumbling growl. 

“Leon, uh, Leon Kennedy. This is actually my first day,” he speaks, coughs, then speaks up louder. “I’m the new recruit on Marvin Branagh’s squad.”

The man’s gaze narrows at that, piercing and analytical, as if he’s sizing up Leon where he stands. Leon can’t help but find it wholly unsettling, like he’s some kind of animal being inspected for the slaughter. 

“Kennedy, huh,” the man repeats slowly, deliberately, his mouth pressed tightly into a cold, unfriendly line. “Why aren’t you with them then?”

Leon pulls a hand through his now damp bangs, a nervous habit, “The Lieutenant actually sent me up here to get my uniform,” he chokes out a desperate laugh, “Almost got lost on my way. This place is massive”

“Sure.” The man still regards him with a hostility that Leon can’t fully understand what he did to warrant. He didn’t steal the guy’s parking spot, did he?

“So uh, what’s your name?” Leon asks dumbly, a last ditch attempt to lighten the mood. “Maybe we’ll see each other around the precinct some time.” 

He really hopes they don’t, in all honesty, not if this delight of an interaction is any indicator of things to come. 

Following another painfully dragging pause, the stranger grunts out another gravelled response, his expression unreadable, “Krauser.”

Leon waits a beat for the guy, for Krauser, to elaborate, but when all he gets is a deepened frown in return he finally gives up on salvaging the conversation altogether, deciding to take the easy out while he still could and abandon ship. Facing Marvin and the rest was looking better by the second.

“Well it was nice chattin’ with you Krauser, but I really gotta get ready and go.” He thumbs casually to the door, “Everyone’s expecting me downstairs. Can’t keep ‘em wait-”

Before Leon can even finish his sentence, the remaining distance between the two men is closed almost instantly, Krauser shrinking the gap with a few swift, hulking strides. Leon has to jerk his weight back mid-step to avoid colliding face first into the man’s chest. 

“Seems like you had fun last night huh, rookie?” Krauser, now far too close, speaks up suddenly, his tone taking on a smug, meaner quality.

“No, I... uh... what?” Leon stiffens, completely overwhelmed by the escalation.

Being so up close and personal, Leon realizes for the first time just how massive Krauser is, all broad shoulders and straining muscles. Leon’s not a small guy by any means, but with this guy towering almost a full head above him even he can’t help but feel like some cornered prey, trapped and disoriented. 

To be fair, the fact that he’s currently half naked and dripping wet is definitely not helping his cause. Regardless, he has to resist the urge to curl in on himself, to cover himself from Krauser’s persistent gaze.

“A pretty boy like you probably gets into all the clubs.” Krauser lets out a sardonic laugh, lip curling upward into a sneer. He reaches out and grabs a lock of Leon’s hair between his thumb and pointer, a mocking gesture, rolling the strands between his fingers.

“P-pretty?” Leon yanks his head back instinctively, too caught off guard to be angry. “Wait, no, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“Do I, rookie? You smell like a goddamn brewery,” Krauser leans in closer as if to prove his point, face twisting with unconcealed disdain. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Hold on,” Leon starts in protest, a new rush of heat pooling in his chest, but realizes quickly with sinking despair that Krauser’s not exactly wrong. “Listen Krauser, it was a one time thing. It won’t happen again-”

“Oh I’m sure it was,” Krauser takes a step forward, Leon a step back. “That’s what they all seem to say.” 

“Really I can explain-”

“Listen here kid, I don’t give a damn about any explanation of yours.” Krauser interrupts him again harshly, his eyes growing darker. “The good Lieutenant may be more forgiving of your bullshit, but not me.”

“E-excuse me?”

Leon takes one more tentative step back, only to find himself knocking flat against the wall behind him, the cold cinder blocks digging bluntly into the space between his shoulder blades. 

“If I were in charge you’d have been stripped of your badge and out on your ass the moment you walked in here looking like,” Krauser scoffs, making a flippant off-hand gesture in Leon’s direction. “Like _that_.”

“Hold on, you’re not being fair.” Leon realizes how lame it sounds the moment the words spill traitorously from his lips. This time the wince slips through. 

“Fair? Are you serious right now? This ain’t grade school anymore, kid.” Krauser barks out a laugh that tapers off into a scowl. “God, they really just accept anyone these days, huh?” 

A flash of indignation bubbles to the surface at that before Leon can think better and bite it back, “Hey I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class at the academy!”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Krauser drawls out. “What? Your daddy drinking buddies with ol’ Irons? Or you some trust fund baby with too much time on your hands?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Leon snaps back, the day’s non-stop blows to his pride finally wearing his patience thin.

“Aww, did I hit a sore spot?” 

“What? No!” Leon stammers, still taken aback by the (blatantly untrue) accusation. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“Right now,” Krauser pauses to drag his eyes slowly up and down the length of Leon’s body, smirking at the other man’s obvious agitation. “I only see one.”

Leon, flustered and at his limit, opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by the sound of a door slamming open from across the room. It catches the attention of both men abruptly, their heads snapping almost comically in time to the source of the noise. 

“Oh Leon there you are.” Elliot walks in leisurely, completely blind to the sparking tension between the two. “You were taking a while so I came to check up on you. Figured you got lost or something.” 

“Yeah… sorry about that,” Leon sputters, taking the chance to push off the wall and slip around Krauser, retreating quickly to his locker with the other man distracted. 

“Nah you’re good,” Elliot says, leaning easily against a locker. “Besides, it looks like you’ve already met Jack. The Lieutenant'll be glad to hear that.”

Something about that, that name, sounds off to Leon, the muted blare of an alarm ringing, but his brain, still muddied from the adrenaline, can’t figure out exactly why. Instead, he quickly pulls on his shirt, relieved to be finally covered up, his fingers fiddling clumsily with the buttons.

“I hope you didn’t pick on the new kid too badly,” Elliot addresses Krauser this time, oblivious to the concerned cast spreading across Leon’s face. “Can’t have you scaring off the new recruit with that ugly mug o’ yours.”

Krauser makes a grunting noise deep in his chest, but the edges of his expression soften ever so slightly, almost in some off-brand expression of amusement. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good,” Elliot laughs and continues on, “Where have you even been, man? You missed the welcome party. You know how much effort I put into planning that. I even got streamers!”

“Gym,” Krauser says plainly, ever the conversationalist. “And I wouldn’t have missed anything if the damn thing started on time.”

Leon purposefully keeps his eyes glued to the floor, teeth clenched.

“Always so serious Jack,” Elliot grins, spinning around to address Leon over his shoulder. “Don’t listen to this guy Kennedy. He’s a prickly motherfucker.”

“Sure…” Leon says, voice trailing off.

Krauser snorts. 

“Now both of you hurry up and get downstairs or the Lieutenant will be on my ass.” Elliot pushes off the locker and starts making a shoo-ing motion with his hands. “He wants to get the logistics down for your first week together ASAP. If I had to guess, Kennedy will probably tag along on your patrol route starting tomorrow.”

And with that, as if a switch flipped, everything falls into place with one sinking realization.

Jack. Jack Krauser. Jack Krauser his soon to be field training officer. 

Well, shit.

As Leon shoves his rumpled civilian clothes back into the locker, the sound of Elliot rambling on about owed pizza dues fading into the background, it really sets in just how out of control things have gotten. Hangovers, traffic, even blowing chunks in your employer’s bathroom he can handle, but this, _this_ was pushing it. I mean, what do you even do when the person evaluating you at your dream job, the job you’ve spent years chasing after, the job you’ve lost relationships over, hates your guts and you don't even know why. Maybe Krauser was gonna get that chance to fire him after all. The thought alone fills Leon with a sense of nagging dread.

Without even looking up, he can feel Krauser’s eyes following him from across the room, the gaze a searing, prickling burn against Leon's skin. Shifting anxiously on his feet, Leon pulls at the hem of his shirt with a tug, willing his racing thoughts to settle.

Guess they’ll be seeing each other around the precinct after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm obsessed with the original RE2 explanation behind why Leon was late on his first day and I refuse to accept anything else as canon.


End file.
